Jay-Jay's POV
The morning sun streamed through the glass windows of my New York apartment, but for once, I didn't feel the usual surge of energy that accompanied my carefully structured routine. Instead, a strange heaviness lingered in my chest, a memory stirring that I hadn't felt in years. The office would wait. Coel and Samy could manage the morning meetings without me. Today was for… ghosts.
I leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter, absently fixing my tie, and let my thoughts drift. The reflection in the mirror caught my attention: the sharp angles of my jaw, the stubborn smile that always appeared when mischief—or worry—was near.
"Jay-Jay?" a small voice interrupted.
I turned to see Ci-N, all fourteen years of his childlike innocence packed into a body that somehow looked older than his age. His school uniform was crisp, but the collar had twisted somewhere along the way, and his tie drooped slightly.
I crouched in front of him and straightened his collar with a practiced hand, the same hand that had once adjusted countless uniforms and untangled countless problems back in Section E. "There. Now you're perfect," I said with a teasing smile, ruffling his hair slightly.
Ci-N beamed at me. "Thanks, Jay-Jay! You always know how to fix things."
I smiled, the warmth of nostalgia easing the heaviness in my chest. He reminded me so much of all of us back then: the laughter, the chaos, the endless meddling in each other's lives. Even his quiet moments mirrored ours.
As I watched him scamper off to join his classmates, my mind drifted back, as it often did, to a particular morning years ago—my eighteenth birthday. I remembered standing in my room, eighteen at the time, with sunlight spilling through the windows, and the boy who had been my constant companion through every high and low—Keifer.
Mark Keifer Watson. My heart still skipped when I thought of his name. His teasing smile, his easy confidence, the way he looked at me as if he held the whole world—and yet only had eyes for me.
I could see it so clearly: him handing me a tiny, slightly lopsided cake while grinning like he had just conquered something monumental. He had a way of making even the smallest gesture feel like it mattered.
"You've grown," he said, a playful edge in his voice. "Not just taller. Wiser too. Don't tell me I'm wrong."
I rolled my eyes, trying to appear unimpressed. "I doubt you can judge that, Keifer."
He smirked, undeterred, leaning casually against the doorframe. "I'll never doubt you, Jay-Jay. Never. Not then, not now, not ever."
Even years later, I could hear the soft certainty in his words, the teasing that never crossed the line, the comfort that always followed. I remembered how he had made everyone laugh, yet somehow always saved the quietest, most genuine moments for me. That closeness, subtle yet unmistakable, had been ours even then.
The laughter of my classmates from that morning at eighteen crept in, carried with the scent of freshly baked cake and the warm light of early spring. Yuri had been quietly observing from the side, teasing just enough to make me roll my eyes but never enough to overshadow Keifer. Ci-N, still the small but clever child, had been scurrying around, curious and mischievous, making everyone laugh with his tiny antics.
I could hear the echoes of those voices as clearly as if they were still there in the room. Freya, Rory, Felix, Drew, Eren, Edrix—they had all crowded into my tiny bedroom, each offering their own version of birthday wishes. Even the teasing from Mayo and Kit, the playful banter between them, had felt like part of the fabric of my life, of who I was before I left everything behind.
I walked to the mirror again, adjusting the cuffs of my blazer. It was strange—looking at myself now, seeing the woman I had become, and comparing her to the girl I once was. The ghost in the mirror was not just me; it was a reminder of all the connections, the bonds, the love, and the mischief that had shaped me.
Ci-N's laughter echoed faintly from the other room, snapping me back to the present. I smiled, shaking my head at how much he reminded me of all of us, of the Section E that had shaped me, of the bonds that had defined my youth. Even the smallest gestures—the way he adjusted his tie, the way he laughed at a joke he didn't quite understand—were reminders that life was built on these moments, on these people, on these connections.
I took a deep breath, centering myself. Today, I would face the memories without losing myself to them. Today, I would honor the past without letting it define the present. The ghost in the mirror was there, yes, but it was only a part of me—a reminder of where I had come from and the people who had shaped me.
And as I straightened my blazer one last time, I realized something vital: memories were powerful, but they could coexist with ambition, with love, and with the life I had built. And I was ready for them all.
Keifer's POV
I watched her from across the room, carefully unseen. Jay-Jay—still stubborn, still radiant, still impossibly herself—had changed in ways that left me breathless. I could almost see the little girl she had once been, and the powerful woman she had become, layered together like a memory he could touch but never quite hold.
"She's always been… uncontainable," I thought, smiling softly. "And somehow, even all these years later, I wouldn't have her any other way."